


No Song Worth Singing

by DGCatAniSiri



Category: Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim
Genre: Battle of Windhelm, Imperial Alligned Dragonborn, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-24
Updated: 2020-03-24
Packaged: 2021-03-01 03:47:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,532
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23288740
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DGCatAniSiri/pseuds/DGCatAniSiri
Summary: The army is at the gate and the final battle is about to be waged.Why should any bard write of this?
Relationships: Male Dovahkiin | Dragonborn/Vilkas
Kudos: 15





	No Song Worth Singing

**Author's Note:**

> A more or less direct followup to my first Skyrim fic, "[The Changing Seasons.](https://archiveofourown.org/works/6072670)" Not necessary to read it, but it's about how Autem chose to fight alongside the Imperial forces.

Windhelm felt more bitter than usual. The cold was unusually sharp this night.

Vilkas would call it an omen, but couldn’t help wondering who that omen was directed at, the Imperials about to press the attack or the Stormcloaks within their last fortress.

Glancing to the front of the battle line, where Autem, Dragonborn, Thane of all the Holds presently waving an Imperial banner, Harbinger of the Companions, Slayer of the Dark Brotherhood, and whatever other grandiose title had been granted to him in his time travelling Skyrim, stood, making a final inspection of the troops and their weapons before the assault began... Vilkas hoped that it was an omen in their favor.

For Autem’s sake, if not the Empire’s. 

The Companions hosted little regard for any political affiliations, and the civil war had been no exception. For his part, Vilkas had cared little for anything being fought over – the closest he’d had to a particular ‘favor’ of either side was the rather generic hatred of the Thalmor that was widespread across Skyrim itself. Perhaps there was some bias against elves in general, given the history of Ysgramor and his crusade against the elves, the origins of the Companions themselves, but that was too long ago for Vilkas to see as any kind of justification for war in the here and now. 

They’d spoken, more than once, more frequently in recent days, as the war had built to an ultimate conclusion, about the war itself, the motivations of the players. It was a lot of handwringing for Autem about the reasons why they were fighting. He’d been a traveler, wandering Tamriel, simply crossing the border into Skyrim, when the fighting had caught him up, nearly gotten him killed. He’d tried to avoid it for so long...

It hadn’t been an easy decision to support the Empire. Autem had debated, long and hard, about who to support – had Jarl Balgruuf not pushed him to resolve the war before he’d allow the safety of Whiterun to be imperiled by summoning a dragon to Dragonsreach, he’d still have left the matter alone. It had ultimately come down to him questioning what mattered more, the worship of Talos the god or the Empire of Tiber Septim the man. 

A man’s legacy had more meaning. A god might crave worship, but this was a realm of men. The gods might make their attitudes and thoughts manifest, but this was still not their world, not their place. 

And, of course, there was the ever-growing threat of the Thalmor. If the Empire – even in decline – had failed to stand against them, how could Skyrim on her own? When they made their next attempt to take all of Tamriel, if they brought their full might against Skyrim and force the Empire to sit out the combat through the damned White-Gold Concordant... 

The Stormcloaks might have reasonable goals for the short term, but all their claims of “Skyrim for the Nords” wouldn’t save them if that happened.

That was why Autem, the Dragonborn, the Harbinger of the Companions, Thane of most of Skyrim’s Holds, and whatever other title had been foisted upon him, now stood outside of Windhelm with the Imperial Army, about to crack open the doors and be one of the city’s invaders.

It didn’t feel noble. But this had to be done. Lest the world be torn asunder by both this war and Alduin. 

General Tullius was doing a last inspection, allowing Vilkas to approach his husband and not call it a distraction. A gentle touch to his shoulder – somehow, despite having crafted armor out of dragonbone, it seemed like Autem reacted to touches that weren’t received in battle like he was wearing something significantly softer – indicated who it was, as any Imperial soldier would have barked out his Imperial title.

“Vilkas,” Autem said with a pained smile. He was happy to see his husband, yet the circumstances were... not ideal.

“I wanted to... make sure you were all right. Before all this...” Vilkas had never exactly been prone to sentimentality. But then, he had a husband – a husband who was the father to their children, no less, children that Vilkas did not want to see grow without both their fathers – and this was a decisive battle. Bards would, one day, put quill to paper, compose the great ballad of this victory.

The thought didn’t sit well with Vilkas, come to think.

Autem smiled, wrapping Vilkas’s hand in both of his. “We’ll make it through this, love.” He chuckled. “We’ve dealt with dragons together. In the face of that, what is Ulfric Stormcloak?”

Despite the confident words, Vilkas caught the pained look in his husband’s eyes. He didn’t like this business in the slightest, and that included fighting a man who wasn’t pure evil. Alduin was, by nature, a threat to the world. Dragons considered themselves to have a right to rule the world, and it was almost a duty of mankind to resist. But Ulfric... Under the right set of circumstances, Autem would have been with an army of the Stormcloaks, standing outside the gates to Solitude, ready to storm the Blue Palace and slay General Tullius, likely Queen Elisif as well, and put Ulfric Stormcloak on the throne of Skyrim. It could have been the case all too easily.

And, given Ulfric’s ability to use the thu’um, some part of Autem likely thought of the man as someone he could have seen as a brother, both having learned with the Greybeards. There should have been camaraderie between them.

Instead, there would be blood and steel.

It wasn’t long before General Tullius assembled the troops, calling for attention, giving a speech of Imperial superiority over the rebels. Vilkas had the impression that the idea was more to have whoever among the army reported back to the Thalmor – for surely they had their spies and operatives among the assembled forces – that he toed the party line. There was no love lost between many Imperials and their Thalmor overseers, but for today, they were joined. As long as the White-Gold Concordant held, they would be allies.

All knew it was simply a matter of time until the Thalmor would break the truce, and then it would again be war. That was why Autem had come here, to ensure that the Empire would have a chance to repel the Thalmor. Through a united Skyrim allied to the Empire.

Was it the right choice? Perhaps. Perhaps they would never know. They just had to make the best choice they could.

The siege proper was... as depressing as it was underwhelming. Of course the Stormcloaks would defend their home with all they had, and, likewise, of course the Imperial forces who’d overtaken the other Holds of Skyrim would have the ability to subject them to enough overwhelming force to breach the walls and barriers that were their primary defense. But these were still brothers and sisters, men and women who should be fighting alongside them against greater threats, not tearing their home to tatters.

“Avoid civilian casualties!” Autem roared as the gate into Windhelm began to give. “We are here to stop Ulfric, not slaughter the citizens! Defend yourselves if attacked, but I will personally see to the punishment of anyone who harms those who are surrendering or are not wearing a Stormcloak uniform!” Was it Vilkas’s imagination, or did the threat have an undercurrent of a dragon’s roar laced into it, as though his Voice were speaking into his words?

The fighting intensified once they were in the city proper. As had been done during the earlier battle at Whiterun, it seemed that the non-combatants of Windhelm had secured themselves inside their homes, which relieved Vilkas. It meant there would significantly fewer causalities among the city itself. 

Still, the streets ran red with blood all the same, as the Stormcloaks and Imperials shed blood.

The chaos separated Vilkas from Autem, though Vilkas did not fear for his husband. That was a lie, of course, but it was what Vilkas told himself as he dealt with the Stormcloaks who came for his head. Autem was too damn important for the Divines to forsake him on this battlefield. A man destined to stop the World-Eater would not die on some battlefield of men. Vilkas held this thought close so that he would not give in to despair and miss a blade coming for him.

And those blades did. More than a few Stormcloaks seemed to pick him out of the chaotic field of battle. Presumably, this had everything to do with Vilkas wearing the traditional armor of the Companions. Officially, the Companions were neutral in this war. Of course, as their Harbinger was at the head of the Imperial army, that claim of neutrality was pretty well ignored. But hearing the odd shout of “traitor” by Stormcloaks who saw the armor indicative of the Companions still stung. He had sworn no oaths, but because the Companions were Skyrim’s own, because Ysgrammor had fought elves, because he was Nord, these Stormcloaks believed him a traitor, because he would not stand with them. 

Even though the words came from strangers, the accusations were still stinging. He had sworn no oaths – to Ulfric or the Thalmor – just to a man. To Autem. He was no traitor. He was, perhaps, the only one on this field of battle, save Autem, who was remaining loyal to all the oaths he’d sworn, given how many Stormcloaks had once served the Imperial army, how many Imperials were likely in the employ – willingly or not – of the Thalmor. He was here because he’d sworn that he would walk this life at Autem’s side, and together, they would find a path to Sovngarde. That was his oath. 

He soon saw the fighting was coming to an end – the Stormcloaks were overwhelmed, and they all knew it. Despite their determination, this battle, truly, had been lost before it had begun. While the Stormcloaks had determination on this side, the truth was, simply, that the Imperial Army was too numerous, too well-rested, too prepared. As their fighting grew more desperate, in the end, it wasn’t enough, and it was obvious to all.

Many of the Stormcloaks were fighting to the death, but a few seemed to recognize the futility of their efforts, hands held high, weapons discarded at their feet. For the most part, the Imperial soldiers seemed to respect the surrender – Autem’s threat did its work.

Vilkas did cast a soldier or two with a harsh look, a reminder that they were not protected by Autem’s eye being elsewhere. That did the trick, though Vilkas wondered if it would come back to haunt him later, from either side. 

That would be for tomorrow, however. Today was still being written. 

He found his way to the Palace of the Kings, knowing that within, he would find Autem there, and that the fighting would be fierce within. Ulfric and Galmar in particular would not give in easily, even knowing that the fighting must end.

Indeed, as Vilkas entered the hall, he could see Ulfric and Autem, locked in combat. General Tullius and Legate Rikke were facing against Galmar, and were clearly getting the better of the bitter general of the Stormcloaks. 

The important part, for Vilkas, was the fight between his husband and Ulfric. He held his greatsword, ready to join the fray, protect his love. But he could also see that, for all Ulfric’s own skill, Autem had him matched to this point. He held back, waiting to see if Autem would give an indication that he needed the aid.

Then, in quick succession, Galmar fell, Rikke’s sword lodged far enough into his chest that it emerged from the other side. And, before he could recover, Ulfric was disarmed – literally, Autem’s own sword taking the Stormcloak king’s hand off. Ulfric’s sword fell from the severed appendage, and Autem kicked it away, Tullius and Rikke moving to back him up.

“It’s over, Ulfric!” Tullius proclaimed. “You can’t escape this time.”

The fighting concluded, Vilkas moved towards Autem, though knowing not to interfere with the proclamation of fate from Tullius.

The General continued. “Now. Any last words before I send you to...” He hesitated, as if he were struggling to remember, though Vilkas could only consider it a directed taunt, as none could live in Skyrim long and not know the name of Sovngarde. “...to wherever you people go when you die?”

“Sovngarde... sir.” Rikke’s voice was soft, knowing what Tullius was doing, unable to argue with him, but still hurt that things had come to this. Vilkas held little appreciation for the Imperial army, the Thalmor, all of the business that happened on the level of nations. But he could appreciate the pain in her voice. She’d respected Ulfric once. Name a native of Skyrim who hadn’t.

This war had not been one any would call glorious. 

Tullius, uncaring about the response of his second in command, simply nodded. “Right.” He looked back to Ulfric. “Well?”

Ulfric didn’t deign to look to Tullius. Instead, his eyes met Autem’s. “Let the Dragonborn be the one to do it. It will make for a better song.”

Whatever Ulfric had expected from Autem, Vilkas felt certain that it was not what he received. The request made Autem’s stare turn cold, and he sheathed his sword. 

“No.”

Vilkas had followed Autem to all ends of Skyrim. The depths of the Sea of Ghosts. The coldest caverns that had let no warmth in since Eras long past. The Throat of the World, where ice that had never melted rested.

Nothing he’d experienced matched the coldness in Autem’s voice.

Despite the pain he must be feeling, Ulfric seemed shocked at the simple declaration, unable to fully grasp not that his request had been denied, but the sheer disdain Autem expressed for even asking it. Autem offered no further explanation, just a dark glare at the man lying before him.

Tullius let out a disgusted noise, not caring for the personal interplay. “Well, fine then! I don’t care who does it, I just want this over with!” And, with that, Tullius took his sword and plunged it into Ulfric’s chest. With a gurgling gasp, Ulfric collapsed.

“Talos be with you,” Rikke murmured.

“What was that, Legate?” Tullius remarked, though it was a warning, not a threat – if any other in the army were to hear her, there was no protection her rank or connections could offer.

She seemed to understand the offer as such. “Nothing, sir.”

Taking a last look at the corpses at their feet, Tullius sighed. “Well. The men will be expecting some kind of speech.” He and Rikke began discussing the political fallout of matters, allowing Vilkas the opportunity that he wanted, to approach his husband.

“Love...” he said softly, reaching for Autem.

The other man let out a deep breath, moving to pull Vilkas close. “You survived,” Autem said with relief. 

“I did, love. We both did.” 

***

Despite the damage to Windhelm, Candlehearth Hall had avoided any serious damage. Even in war, the soldiers were not inclined to damage a tavern. Granted, the owner was not entirely happy with the various Imperial soldiers now inhabiting the building, but they were paying customers, which minimized the complaints.

Despite the soldiers who were willing to revel in victory, it had quickly become a somber affair, where the soldiers recognized that the capitol city was not welcoming of the Empire as liberators. Most of the soldiers there were simply taking rooms – Rikke had already promised Imperial reimbursement for the night. 

Having taken a room, rather than try to make their way across Skyrim to return home today, they would do so tomorrow, after they’d properly come to acknowledge that they’d fought a final battle in a war. 

They’d both shed their armor, Vilkas’s Sky Forge set lying beside Autem’s Dragonbone. Their weapons lay in close reach, but neither man focused on them. Just in ensuring that they both knew and felt that they were alive. 

As sweat-slicked bodies came to rest, their breathing steadying, Vilkas found that his mind was still turning over that final confrontation. 

“Love?” Vilkas asked. Autem made a non-committal noise, clearly intending to fall into slumber.

But Vilkas knew his mind wouldn’t let him rest. “I just... Why did you refuse Ulfric’s last request?”

And like that, Autem was awake again, as if he’d known the question would come. Probably had, knowing his husband as he did. He sighed. “He wanted a better song.” It was said with disgust. “All this time, all this bloodshed, all this horror... And in the end, the one thing he wanted was to have himself remembered in some noble duel to the death. This war... This war should never have been fought. Even if the Stormcloaks had noble goals of defending their faith... In the end, Ulfric’s priority was personal glory. He’d have let Skyrim burn because he wanted more.” Autem practically spat the condemnation of Ulfric, as if ashamed that he’d wanted to believe a peaceful resolution had been possible – if a man was consumed with such thoughts, then surely he would never have allowed a solution that would have allowed peace, not while he still breathed.

It was, Vilkas realized, as he’d thought – he knew his husband well enough to be able to guess what troubled him. And this did trouble him – he’d wanted to believe that Ulfric had simply been trying to do what he thought was right for Skyrim. That he could have been reasoned with. That he could have been an admirable man.

Instead, what Autem saw of him, of a fellow follower of the Greybeards teaching... had been a man who’d sought personal glory, wrapped up in fanciful words that claimed something greater.

Vilkas understood why his husband had such a difficulty reconciling this. The civil war had so much talk around it, such claims of noble ambition, and yet... Now that it was over, what had it gained? What had it been, other than the quest of a man who’d sought greater ambitions?

“The Stormcloaks are more than a man. Their ranks held those who genuinely believed. Whatever their leader did, some of them were true. Perhaps that’s what matters, in the end,” Vilkas suggested.

It wasn’t enough, so Autem’s expression told him. Not that Vilkas could blame him. “This business... It’s been nothing but a chase for a single man’s path to glory. Perhaps some part of Ulfric Stormcloak wanted Skyrim to be free of the Empire, to chart its own path. But all I could see when he asked for a ‘better song’ was a man who’d let his personal ambitions become the greater drive for him. Any noble intentions... They’d given way, and all that was left was his own dreams of glory.” He sighed. “I couldn’t grant the request of someone who’d fallen to that point. And what he had done... It just made all of this chaos, all this damage, and pain, pitting those who loved one another against each other. I couldn’t... I couldn’t reward that.”

There was still a question in Autem’s voice, however. He may have the awareness that undoing the actions he’d taken was impossible, but, now that he had time to think, time to question, time to just stop and consider... He wasn’t sure if he’d done the right thing or just done something that had satisfied himself.

Vilkas pulled his love close, though. He met Autem’s lips with his own, hoping that his certainty could pass from him to his husband. “That you are regretful it came to this speaks more to you than it does anything else. You wish it could have gone differently. Ulfric made that impossible. You couldn’t make his choice for him. All that was left was how you would respond.”

It took a moment, but Autem nodded. “True enough. Whatever Ulfric might have wanted, might have done, any of that... All it did was leave me in a position where I had to make a choice. And I chose to not reward his sense of personal glory. On top of choosing to stand against him.” He sighed. “I can’t wait to put all this civil war business behind me.”

Vilkas let out a laugh at that. “Now do you really think it is that simply, love?”

“Of course it’s not,” Autem said, answering his laugh with his own. “I still have to draw a dragon into the heart of Whiterun and face Alduin himself. And yet... That seems far simpler than ending this civil war.” Now his laugh was hollow. “What a misnomer.”

“Still... I feel the song of you facing Alduin will be far better than any song of this war. So perhaps there’s that.”

“I hope no song is sung of this war, though I’m sure some bard is trying to compose one as we speak.” The disgust was palpable, and Vilkas couldn’t blame him. This war had been too bloody and bitter to have any sense of victory.

But, at the very least, the Skyrim civil war had ended.

That would have to be enough.

**Author's Note:**

> Yeah, that "let the Dragonborn be the one to do it, it'll make a better song" comment has always kinda soured me on Ulfric and his cause, so of course I was going to have my Dragonborn be bothered by it as well.


End file.
